The Aliens of London
by Rjalker
Summary: The world waits with baited breath as the ship is pulled from the river.


When they pulled the alien ship out of the Thames, they weren't entirely able to keep the swarms of reporters and news stations at bay. Almost every adult in the world had a cellphone, and almost all of those phones had cameras.

Through thousands of different perspectives and grainy recordings, the world watched as its first official alien encounter was pulled by a team of divers and a crane out of the murky river water.

A body was pulled out first, and everyone's eyes strained to tell if the green and brown, almost leather-like material was skin, or clothes. Those closest could see what they thought was a helmet, but recoiled in horror when they saw the _red_ splattered against the inside.

Terror temporarily spread throughout the watching masses when the being suddenly jerked to life, struggling against the paramedics trying to load it onto a stretcher. It shouted something in a language beyond comprehension, and managed to break free just long enough to lung toward the edge where the concrete met water, its stomach hitting the concrete as its hand reached desperately for a small, dark shape floating in the water.

It's voice was loud enough to carry, and the desperation and pain was obvious to everyone watching. One of the divers still in the water quickly moved forward toward the object, and scooped it up in their hands.

As though they'd been shocked, the alien cried out, even more desperate than before. The diver wasted no time in passing the object gently into the alien's outstretched hand, and once it was safely pressed to the alien's chest, it stumbled back to its feet, its voice still coming out as a panicked shrieking that no matter how hard they tried, no one watching could even _begin_ to put into words.

The noises passed so quickly in and out of existence that they couldn't even start to figure out what the syllables were before they were gone.

One of the paramedics, hands held up to show that they weren't a threat, moved forward slowly, and held out their hands, talking softly, gesturing to the object in the alien's hands and then back to themselves.

For a moment, the alien froze, its entire body visibly shaking, before holding out the object, still speaking in its rabid, evanescent language.

The Paramedic gently took it from them, then placed it on the ground and knelt down over it.

As though suddenly too weak to stand, the alien stumbled, and one of the other paramedics had to catch them before they could hit the concrete. For a moment, all eyes were on the paramedic crouched over the object on the ground.

Whispers passed themselves through the crowds, from the front to the back. _CPR? He's doing CPR! That thing! It's some sort of animal!_

The animal twitched, then jerked upright, and the paramedic cried out in both surprise and relief. The alien tried to lunge forward again for the animal, but almost fell over again. Before it could hurt itself, the paramedic quickly scooped up the panicking animal—some sort of bird?—and pressed it gently into the alien's outstretched and pleading hands.

As though a lion that had been standing snarling over the two suddenly ceased its threat, the bird—it was definitely some sort of bird, no bigger than the alien's hands put together—wilted, and if not for the paramedics holding them up, the alien would have fallen.

Speaking to it gently, the paramedics helped lead the alien back over to the stretcher. Staggering even with the help of the paramedics, one hand clutched to their chest where they held the bird, the alien climbed onto the lowered stretcher and sat down, one hand gently caressing the bird, which pressed itself against their chest with its claws hooked into the leather, perfectly tame and unafraid, and the other reaching up to fumble against the seam of the helmet it wore.

The paramedic that had done the CPR moved forward again and crouched down infront of the alien, holding a hand up to signal the others to wait before loading it into the ambulance. They mimed lifting the helmate off, then pointed to themselves, and back to the alien.

The alien spoke again, still in that unintelligible language, and nodded, tapping its fingers against one spot on the helmate.

Carefully, the paramedic reached out, found the switch the alien had been trying to release, and gently pulled the helmet away.

Murmurs immediately swept through the watching crowd as, to their surprise, a woman was revealed. If not for the language she spoke that no one could ever hope to repeat, and the ship she had flown, she could have been human.

Blood—red blood, just like human blood, so light so that it almost verged on orange—matted hair that might have been blonde to the side of her head, and eyes darkened by bruise-like shadows fell shut as she breathed in deeply, her face contorted in obvious pain even as relief crossed her features.

As though removing the helmet had drained her of the last of her remaining strength, the alien slumped against the stretcher, and curled herself onto her side, around the tiny bird, closed her eyes, and lost consciousness.

As though an invisible signal passed through those watching, everyone realized, all at once, that they had just witnessed Earth's first official contact with aliens. And the alien hadn't been hostile, and it hadn't been something so completely _foreign_ that they had no hope of communicating, and the paramedics had managed to save its pet from drowning, and no one had gotten hurt, and there hadn't been any misunderstandings, and _they had survived_.

Across the world, news stations were already playing the story, repeating the scene over and over again and analyzing everything that had happened.

As a whole, the human race breathed a sigh of relief, and began preparing themselves for whatever would happen next.


End file.
